


Heartbreaker

by Kaelie



Category: NSYNC
Genre: F/M, M/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:12:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaelie/pseuds/Kaelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heartbreaker, your time has come . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbreaker

_Heartbreaker your time has come . . ._

Led Zeppelin

~ ~ ~ ~

This is how it is.

She carefully watches the entertainment news, the internet web sites, and the local paper and keeps alert at work for hints of when he'll be in town next, but he moves about so quietly he can still appear in Orlando suddenly and without warning. It's important to be ready for the telephone call at all times, but often he spends only a few days here before suddenly appearing in New York City, or Los Angeles, and all her careful preparations are for nothing. She does them anyway. It wouldn't do to be unprepared.

It takes a great deal of time and costs a lot of money. Complete Brazilian waxing, every four and a half weeks, with the necessary two days of recovery time carefully factored in. European facial every two weeks, microdermabrasion every four weeks, manicure every week, pedicure every two weeks, hair cut every four weeks, meticulously touched up every five. Imported cosmetics and skin care products. Body lotion. Dental whitening strips. Sunless tanning lotion. Membership to a gym, where she goes every single day at six o'clock in the morning for ninety minutes. He keeps late hours. He never, ever calls before noon but when he does, she needs to be ready.

It doesn't escape her notice that she pays far more attention to her appearance than he does to his.

Sometimes it's hard, because she has an extended family that thinks her living in one of the world's vacation capitals is an asset. It hurts to tell her younger sister no, she can't come stay with her during spring break, that she has no time to play theme park tourist with her. She tries to tell her that her job keeps her too busy to spend time with her, that her apartment is too small for guests, but the disappointment in her sister's voice sometimes bothers her. As does the concern and suspicion in her father's, when he asks her exactly what is it that she does for this entertainment company? She evades, and tells herself that someday soon she will be able to make it up to them.

And it's not like she doesn't have a life, because she does. Her mid-level clerical job at WEG is not quite full-time, but it has built-in flexibility. Nobody there questions why she leaves the office early on certain days, or comes in late, or not at all. And it pays pretty well. Still, after the rent for her small apartment, and making her car payment and her necessary personal expenses and trying to make a dent in her credit card bills, there isn't much left over for anything but the basic necessities. Enough for a matinee a couple times a month, and lunch out a few times, always with carefully chosen companions from the office. Girls - and boys - who are not competition. Safe dates, in more ways than one.

Of course, there are many events that she goes to free of charge. Concerts, usually in VIP as part of the WEG staff, private parties at public places, charity events to which either her face or her WEG access badge provide instant entree. After showing up just once with JC, the doormen at the best clubs in the area remember her and wave her past the line at the door. Most automatically show her into VIP if she wants to go, but the one time she went there alone nobody in the room would talk to her but the bartender. It had felt an awful lot like work, with the knowing looks and the whispers behind her back. It doesn't matter, she prefers to be in the main part of the club, see the people who narrowed their eyes at her as she walked past them in the door line watch her dance, speculate about who she is. Sometimes they wonder enough to ask the bouncer, the bartender, the doorman. She doesn't know exactly how they answer, and she doesn't care. What matters is that they ask.

She goes sometimes just to dance, to keep current on the music they were playing in clubs like this should the subject ever come up in conversation, and to watch other people dance and make certain her own skills aren't lacking. It's really part of the job. But she doesn't go to clubs by herself very often, and never stays long when she does go. She enjoys the atmosphere and the attention that someone like herself attracts. She knows how to dress and that with her blonde hair and olive tinted skin she looks her best under spinning club lights. She likes to dance and has worked very hard to learn how to do it properly, but alcohol is fattening and temptation is rampant, and it wouldn't do to get a reputation as a perpetual party girl. Orlando is a small town. Word gets around.

She doesn't have many friends in Orlando, and she is wary about making any. Too many people would want to befriend her for the wrong reasons. She'd been there for less than six months and the WEG offices were not the sort of place beautiful blonde girls made friends easily. She keeps her head down and is never anything but perfectly and pleasantly polite when she is there, but there is jealousy, and resentment, and more than a little derision aimed at her. She'd recently overheard Melinda laughing to Kelly about a small spelling error she'd made, saying nastily that she hoped they were getting their money's worth in some other way. "Now, which one is she?" Kelly asks, and that stings, because she's been introduced to Kelly more than once, but she shrugs it off. She tells herself that in the long run it will not matter. In the end, she will be the one laughing. The big summer charity event is coming up, JC has indicated that he expects her to attend all the events both job-related and socially. She feels like her silence and patience has paid off, and her time is coming.

~ ~ ~ ~

This is the way it started.

She'd been watching and waiting for her chance for months. It was really the only reason she'd stayed in Orlando after college, working several part-time clerical jobs that she was bored by and overqualified for. But one of them gave her an opportunity to meet famous people. Rich people. Handsome boy-band people. So she had waited.

This one hadn't caught her eye until early the previous year. He'd grown his hair out, and cultivated some facial hair, and abruptly went from conventionally handsome to outstandingly beautiful. Or maybe it was just because she had previously only really seen him from a bit of a distance.

He used to have a fairly high-profile girlfriend, but she seemed to spend most of her time on the west coast. She hadn't seen the girlfriend at the WEG campus once, and had been surprised to see her name on the company payroll. She'd asked the payroll manager why this was, and had gotten a sharp "none of your business," that she had not forgotten. She was a quick learner. Asking questions did not get you ahead here.

She wasn't the most beautiful girl doing part-time, special event type work for the publicity part of the entertainment organization, but she was very pretty in a quiet sort of way. She had symmetrical features, good skin, a perfect hourglass figure (real), blonde hair (not real), and knew how to dress. She was quiet, polite, and did what she was told. She handled personality conflicts well, and bit her tongue when the higher-ups in the organization gave snippy or unreasonable orders. She'd done several temporary type assignments before they asked her to sign an eyebrow-raising number of confidentiality agreements. It had been shortly after those documents had been signed and returned that JC had issued a very casual and polite invitation to join him and a group of people for lunch.

She'd seated herself across the table from him, and was careful not to look at him too obviously although that turned out to be harder than she thought it would be. Up close he was so beautiful, his hair curly and soft looking, his skin perfect, his eyes luminous. He was quiet and very low key, but when he smiled his whole face participated, his eyes crinkling, teeth flashing. His laugh was low and lazy and paralyzingly sexy, nothing like the high giggle she'd heard from him when he was honestly amused by something, and the timber of his voice made her stomach flutter. She was aware of his eyes on her and reminded herself to sit up straight, to tilt her head so that her smile was at its most attractive angle. She had chatted easily with the people on either side of her, both of whom she knew slightly from her job, and was careful to make her questions and conversation very general. She'd kept her voice low and soft after seeing him twitch in irritation when someone laughed too loudly. Everyone contributed to the bill, which secretly amused her. His thriftiness was a well-known quirk.

He left Orlando soon after that and she didn't hear from him while he was in Los Angeles. Careful information hunting at her job allowed her to time the picking up of her paycheck from the head offices for a day when she knew he'd be back, three weeks later, for a series of meetings. She was lucky enough to encounter him in the hallway between the office and recreation complex, in the company of one of his band mates and several other assistants and security guards.

JC had smiled at her, asked her how she was, and dropped his voice to ask, politely, if he could get her number to call her later. Justin had stared hard at her and then through her, his eyes dismissing her as someone of no consequence even as his mouth curled a little with amusement and what looked like scorn. He'd moved aside but didn't walk away, tapping his fingers on his thigh restlessly as he waited for JC to finish his conversation with her.

JC seemed a little tense as well, and beneath the haze of her carefully hidden excitement she wondered if their meetings were not going well, if there were problems. But JC's smile was lazy, he stood just a fraction closer to her than necessary, and even as she was distracted by the clean scent he wore she could appreciate his long, lean frame, the well worn jeans that hugged his narrow hips, the plain white sleeveless shirt that accentuated his smooth, lean arms.

She'd parted from him with a smile on her face. The back of her neck had prickled as she walked away and she'd glanced behind her as she turned a corner, certain she would see him doing the same. But he wasn't; he was speaking to Justin, and as they moved away she saw Justin reach over and wrap a hand around the back of JC's neck in a gesture that was both familiar and affectionate and curiously possessive. The blue eyes that looked back at her belonged to Justin, and at that distance they seemed narrow and cold. She'd felt a little chill, but forgot it in the triumphant euphoria. JC was going to call her. She thought of his smile, his full and soft looking lower lip, the faint stubble on his face, and she shivered with anticipation.

He had not called that night, or the next. But she'd known that he would call, and that he would do it soon, so she used the time to her advantage. She'd made several trips to a local gourmet wine store, asking questions, learning as many key points as possible and purchasing several reference books that she poured over in the evenings, quizzed herself on when she drove to work. She fretted about taking a painting class, worried that it would be too obvious, and settled with relief on a photography seminar instead. She went to Barnes and Noble and found a couple of coffee table books on photography and lighting, and to the local university's bookstore for several used textbooks on art history to sit with her general business books on the shelves. She set the rest of the stage with equal care, cleaning her apartment meticulously, placing the art books strategically in the bedroom and living room, the carefully selected bottles of expensive imported wine in the kitchen.

He didn't call for almost two weeks, and when he did he was the only member of the group still in Orlando. She expected to be invited to dinner alone this time, but he asked her to meet him at a local restaurant for dinner with several other friends. She called ahead for directions and an idea of the appropriate dress, and this time maneuvered carefully so that she was seated beside him. He was soft-voiced and very polite, discussing the menu options with her, asking her to choose an appetizer, making small talk about the weather, a new club downtown, organic vegetables at the local farmer's market. She sat ever so slightly closer to him than was strictly necessary, and smiled inside when he rested his arm along the back of her chair.

After the third such dinner date he told her to leave her car and ride to a club with him and several other friends. It was a weeknight, but the club was packed and they went straight to the VIP lounge, where she was surprised to see Justin and Lance among the crowd. Smoke was thick, music deafening, and she'd felt a real thrill as she weaved through the crowd to the bar, her hand tight in his. He introduced her to Lance, who had a brilliant smile and meticulous manners. He said he'd seen her around WEG, brought her a drink, and engaged her in a very serious conversation about college dorm life, of all things. JC had laughed, ran his hand down her back, and leaned close to whisper "I'll be right back." She'd shivered at the feel of his breath on her ear, the low timber of his voice, and Lance had grinned in amusement.

She visited the VIP restroom where she had a very odd encounter with an inexplicably friendly Melinda, who smiled brilliantly at her and said she hoped that she was having a good time. She returned to the lounge and approached JC in time to hear the tail-end of what sounded like a very serious conversation between him and Lance and Justin, whom they seemed to be trying to convince of something. The three of them stood close together, their voices low and muffled over the heavy bass of the sound system, and as she approached Lance nudged Justin sharply, interrupting some sort of heated statement. She hesitated, but JC wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her away, his "we're going to dance now" directed over her head and right at Justin. The two of them stared hard at each other as they moved away, until Lance put his hand on Justin's arm and pulled him back to the bar and she lost sight of them in the crowd. She wondered, but knew she didn't have the right to ask. She had no rights, really.

He led her out to the dance floor and pulled her close immediately, fitting her effortlessly against his body and into his rhythm, and it didn't matter that she wasn't anywhere near the dancer he was. His hands slid easily over her hips, skirting appreciatively up her sides and across her stomach, and through the haze of the slowly building excitement and certainty and arousal she blessed the three hundred crunches she did every single day. It was exhilarating to be on the floor with him, to feel the eyes on them, hear the whispers as he was recognized, feel the weight of the jealous stares. He encouraged her to put her hands on him with a smile and she almost gasped at the heat coming off his body. They danced close and hard for several minutes but she didn't raise her eyes to his until she felt his hands close tightly over her hips, holding her still as he slid his erection across her abdomen. She was surprised to find his smile gone. His expression was almost fierce as he looked over her head and past her, and for a confused moment it seemed like he'd forgotten she was there. But then he bent his head to face her, lips parted and eyes glinting intently in the swirling light. "Ready to get out of here?" he asked, and she nodded.

He offered to follow her home in his car, and that was better than driving her home and wondering how to get her car in the morning, but not as good as inviting her to his house. Still, she'd been expecting it, and she was ready. She had spent what remained of her paycheck on several carefully selected bottles of wine because he'd talked about good wine at the lunch date and had seemed really serious about it. She'd gone back to the gourmet wine shop outside of Orlando and purchased not just the bottles but the pricey gourmet crackers and imported cheese and a few imported truffles that the store proprietor had promised would go well with the wine. She watched him in her rearview mirror as he talked on his cell phone, her heart thudding hard in her chest, echoing in her ears. She rehearsed a carefully casual invitation on the short drive to her apartment, and if he seemed a little amused by it at least he took no persuading.

He'd ignored all four calls that had come in on the blue cell phone in his pocket during their short walk to her front door, although his expression was grim when he looked at the display. He didn't offer to enlighten her, and she did not ask.

Inside her small apartment he'd moved quickly and with an absolute minimum of small talk. She'd set her bag down on a chair and turned to reach for a light switch, and had been surprised to find him already hard when he pulled her into his arms, muttering "leave it off." He had kissed her thoroughly and expertly and his beauty and the heat of his hands through her thin shirt made her short of breath. She tried to think clearly, to coax him toward her bedroom and to remember every sexy seduction trick she'd ever learned or heard of, but she forgot all of this when he pressed her urgently against the cabinet in the kitchen, lifting her easily to sit on the counter and sliding his lean hips between her thighs. His mouth moved down the side of her neck as his fingers quickly unbuttoned her blouse, and she gasped as his tongue swirled damply around the tip of her breast. Heat shimmered down her spine, making her shiver and her legs clenched hard around his hips. He laughed a little, gathered her closer, murmured that she was beautiful.

By the time he dispensed with her shirt and pulled her pants off, smiling appreciatively at the tiny black lace thong underneath, she was dizzy and gasping for air. Her own fingers were clumsy on the button fly of his jeans, and he brushed them away impatiently before undoing them himself, pushing them down just enough to draw his cock out of his underwear. She reached immediately for it, hesitated before sliding off the counter and sinking to her knees in front of him. He held her hands while she worked, preventing her from pulling his jeans farther down.

He smelled good, like sex and clean sweat and a faint hint of cologne, and as she licked and sucked she closed her eyes and shivered with triumph. Her breasts ached and her groin throbbed in anticipation, and he tugged her head up after just a few minutes. She cleared her throat to try to speak, to suggest the bedroom but he silenced her with his mouth, pushing her back against the counter. His shirt was unbuttoned and the smooth cotton rasped against her breasts with a friction that made her moan.

She was confused when he suddenly spun her around to face the counter, sliding his hands down her back and around her hips, pressing her firmly against the cabinet and holding her there with his body while he fumbled in his pocket. She blinked hard to clear her vision, her breasts damp and suddenly puckering coldly at the loss of his body heat. Her immaculate apartment was almost completely dark; only the faint illumination from the tiny light above the stove behind her cast odd shadows into the living room. She heard the snap of latex and felt him move closer, his jeans scraping across the back of her thighs and she bent over, spreading her thighs and arching her back to accommodate him.

He positioned himself and thrust hard and she gasped, dropped her head forward, her hands scrabbling on the smooth counter top for leverage. Goose bumps raised on her arms, the front of her body was cold, her breasts ached fiercely, and she braced herself so the sharp edges of the counter wouldn't dig into her abdomen. He set a hard and fast rhythm and she went on her tiptoes to try to ease the painful angle. She knew it would be over quickly; already he was starting to hiss harshly through his teeth but there was no way she could catch up to him. She needed both hands to brace herself and he held her hips bracketed by his forearms, his hands gripping the edge of the counter top hard.

There was silence in the dark apartment except for his harsh breaths and her own gasps and the persistent beeping of his blue cell phone, laying face up on the counter near her clenched fist, its lighted display announcing that he had now missed seven calls. Her hair partially obscured her view of it as it swung over her face in a rhythm that jerked with his accelerating thrusts, and she closed her eyes and grit her teeth as he pushed hard one last time, lifting her almost off her feet and pinning her hard against the sharp edge of the counter. It wasn't what she'd expected, but she was careful not to let him see her disappointment.

He'd left almost immediately afterwards, straightening his clothes in seconds while she pulled her blouse on awkwardly to cover herself. She'd had an odd, disjointed feeling that it hadn't happened, that it had been some sort of disjointed dream. But he'd pulled her close, smoothing her hair and kissing her softly, thoroughly, at her front door. "Thank you," he said quietly, smiling a little, encouraging her to smile back.  And so it really had happened, and his promise to call her made it all okay.

She thought she should be surprised or even offended when her next paycheck showed a modest raise, but she wasn't.

~ ~ ~ ~

It had become a pattern of sorts. When he was in town, he would call her and make a polite request. Would she like to meet him for dinner? Did she feel like going out tonight? She always did, and she never had anything else planned, and so she would go, always as part of an ever-rotating group of people -- old friends, new friends, co-workers, business acquaintances, friends of friends. She would meet him at public places for meals, at clubs, at promotional events and afterwards he would drive her back to where her car was parked and either follow her home and come in for a little while, or follow her home and wave from the driveway before pulling away. He never picked her up at her apartment. He always smiled and kissed her goodbye and said he would call her later.

When he came in to her apartment he didn't like to waste time on preliminaries. He responded to touch automatically, didn't like to make out, got impatient with foreplay and had no real interest in post-coital relaxation or snuggling. He wasn't particularly sensual, which seemed an odd contradiction after seeing him dance on stage and in clubs. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought that she didn't attract him, but why else would he bother with her? He could have anyone, and her daily examination of herself in the mirror assured her of her assets.

He liked it hard and fast and dirty and always standing up, against the back of her apartment door, over the back of her couch, braced against her kitchen counter. It had been months now, and he still hadn't seen the inside of her bedroom except as a place to pass through on his way to the bathroom. It was something of a disappointment, but she told herself that things would get better, he would be more relaxed around her once his schedule wasn't so full. She wasn't complaining.

But she looked forward to those rare times when he wasn't in such a hurry, when he would let her turn on lights, would sit on her couch and sip a glass of wine and thumb through the art history book on her living room table. She would sit beside him, looking at the pictures over his shoulder and ask him what he thought of this one, and he would talk about the color and the depth, and sometimes he would know a little bit about the artist. He never said anything about how the picture made him feel. He never asked her what she thought of it.

She'd learned back in junior high that the best way to make a good impression on a boy was to display a great deal of interest, ask a lot of questions about him, and not volunteer too much information about herself. She'd modified this rule in deference to JC's fame, the fact that he was asked personal questions all the time, and the thought that he was in the habit of keeping his personal life private. So she kept the conversation to topics of general, hopefully mutual interest. Someday soon, she told herself, he would trust her enough to really talk to her. He would show more interest in her, and he would ask questions about the pictures on her walls, the books on her shelves. He would ask her what sort of movies she liked to watch, and invite her to his house to watch some. One of these days, soon, it would feel like a real date, and he would feel like a real boyfriend.

These patient hopes and the fact that he wasn't formally dating anyone else while he was in Orlando were the things she clung to when he'd leave, and her daily search for news would garner photos of him with B list actresses in Los Angeles, foreign super models in New York City, and nameless but beautiful women in the Midwest.

Once in a while she would see him in the middle of a work day, when Melinda would hand her sealed envelopes of documents and tell her to deliver them to him. When that happened he was always somewhere on the WEG grounds -- the studio, the rehearsal rooms. He was always very pleased to see her, would pause what he was doing to smile brilliantly, kiss her gently, thank her for bringing him whatever she was handing over. Sometimes she stayed to watch the rehearsals for a few minutes until one of the others, usually Justin, would raise his eyebrows and look pointedly at JC, and then he would smile at her and suggest that Melinda must be looking for her now. Once she ran into Kelly as she was leaving, and greeted her with a smile, but it was clear from Kelly's blank expression that she has no idea who she was, didn't remember any of their past meetings. Someday, she told herself. Someday soon.

The last time she'd seen him it had been partially for business. He'd done an appearance for a local radio station charity event and she'd gone with him as part of the WEG staff, her capacity official even though she had nothing really to do. Afterwards he'd taken her out to a late breakfast, and talked desultorily and casually about the upcoming tour, some plans for the new stage. He'd left his sunglasses on throughout the entire morning. He hadn't once asked her anything personal, but he'd smiled brilliantly when he dropped her off at work, kissed her chastely on the lips, said he'd give her a call later.

She knew they were practicing hard for the upcoming tour, learning new choreography in a separate building on the WEG campus. The previous week she'd taken the long way across the lawn from one building to the next, and had gotten close enough to hear the muffled beat of the music and wave to the bodyguards seated on the porch outside. Yesterday she had spent half the morning convincing herself that it was okay to wander over there at lunchtime. That JC would be glad to see her.

She saw Chris and Joey leaving the building, and they waved to her and were very friendly until they realized that she wasn't the one delivering lunch. "No lunch?" Chris had asked incredulously, Joey laughing helplessly at her confused expression. She never could tell when Chris was joking. "What do we pay you for, anyway?" he said severely, and Joey choked back a groan, smiling hugely at her as he pulled Chris away.

"Ignore him," Joey ordered, his smile counting on her forgiveness even as Chris continued, "What do we pay her for, Joe? Why do we have to pay C's girlfriends anyway?" Joey smacked him, laughing over Chris's head at her as Chris continued to gripe. "We never had to pay any of my girlfriends. Did we? Did we Joe?" She laughed, self-consciously.

The security guards were not at their usual post outside the big rehearsal building, and she hesitated before entering and silently climbing the stairs to the great room. She thought she had missed him, the room was so quiet, and she didn't hear the voices until she was on the final step. She froze.

JC was sitting on the floor, slumped tiredly against the long sofa under the big window. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back. Justin sat cross-legged behind him on the couch, his fingers working slowly on JC's scalp, combing through his hair, massaging and rubbing. JC's eyes were closed, a blissful smile on his face, his body limp and rocking slowly in time with Justin's movements.

"Hey. You asleep?" Justin's voice was very soft, she had to strain to hear the words although she could easily hear the smile in his voice. "You're, like, turning into Jello Man here."

"Hmmmph." JC's voice was lazy, low, suggestive. "'s not what you called me las' night."

Justin smiled, tilted his head to grin down into JC's face. "You gonna argue with me? I could stop right now, leave you laying here. Jello man." His fingers never slowed from their slow, sensuous path across JC's scalp.

"Mmmmmmm." JC didn't seem to have the energy to form words. He leaned his head sideways, resting it against Justin's knee, exposing more of his long neck. "More."

"Okay." Justin continued to stroke his fingers up JC's neck, through and into JC's hair, his own head bent attentively. His voice was so gentle. "Why don't you take a nap? Food won't be here for half an hour."

"Mmmkay. Don' stop."

Justin smiled, softly. "I won't."

The window behind the couch outlined their forms with a pale glow, throwing their features into dramatic light and shadow. Her breath caught because she had never, not once, seen JC so relaxed and unguarded. And Justin must have sensed her eyes on them, curious, wondering, more than a little envious. He looked up suddenly and his face changed, the soft smile drifting away even as his fingers continued their slow, soothing strokes. She raised her hand a little in greeting, started to form the words but something in his look froze her where she stood. She glanced from JC, still boneless as Justin's fingers gently massaged his scalp, back to Justin's narrowed eyes and challenging stare. He lifted his chin and raised his eyebrows at her, and when he jerked his eyes silently at the stairs she backed down immediately. She got the message. She wasn't wanted. She wasn't needed. She did not belong.

She hurried back to her cubicle and shakily told herself that it was nice that the press was accurate on this point. They really were close, they did consider each other family. It said good things about them all, that they took such good care of each other. She pushed aside the memory of the last time she'd tried to sink her fingers into JC's gorgeous hair, the impatient way he'd ducked her fingers even as his smile had made her knees buckle. She wasn't part of their tight inner circle, not the way Kelly was, but she would be patient. Someday she would be.

~ ~ ~ ~

This is how it will be.

The weekend of CFTC will be like a dream come true. She will be busy with work and at Melinda's beck and call, but the bulk of her time will be spent with him in the first two days, driving with him during the scavenger hunt, dancing with him at the after party, sitting with him at dinner. He will introduce her to all the celebrities and quasi-celebrities in town for the event, the television stars, the movie stars, the music stars, the professional athletes. He will hold her hand, hug her, play with her, mock-wrestle with her for a hat in a parking lot, drape his arms around her shoulders and nuzzle her neck and she will be so happy, because these types of public displays of affection are something she's never experienced with him before, and to do it in front of all these people must mean something.

Orlando is swarming with fans and security is very tight, so he won't come to her apartment or even follow her home during the long weekend. He will drop her off by her car at the WEG grounds and he will be exhausted, certainly, but also keyed up, his eyes luminous with some sort of excitement. He will be anxious to go, jingling his keys, and his kiss goodnight will be distracted and perfunctory. He will drive away with a quick wave before she even starts her car or has her seatbelt fastened, his taillights disappearing around a corner he doesn't even slow down for. His tires will squeal a little in protest, but she will be too tired to think about that.

Three and a half hours of sleep and her phone will wake her up. It will be Melinda, who will not have slept at all and will be frantic to have some papers delivered to JC, some important things on her desk at WEG that Melinda had neglected to have him sign. She will get up, groaning, and rush through her morning routine to hurry down to the WEG compound, retrieve the envelope, and head to JC's house. She will wince at the thought of waking him up at this early hour, but her heart will pound a little with excitement because she's never seen his house up close before, never been inside.

His younger brother lives in the house and he will squint at her in confusion when she rings the bell. They have met before, briefly, a couple of times, but he has never displayed any interest in her or her position with WEG or with his brother for that matter. This has always made her a little uncomfortable, and she will wave the envelope, smiling, charmingly explaining why she is there.

Tyler's feet will be bare and he'll stand in the doorway, squinting, one foot rubbing the top of the other foot. He will frown, say no, JC isn't there, why would she think he'd be here? Especially with all the fans in town for the charity event. Who told her that he would be here?

She will hesitate, because it never occurred to her that he would be somewhere else. The lie will fall glibly from her lips; Melinda is so crazed and stressed out, and when she'd asked her to deliver the envelope to JC she had said to take it to his house. Tyler's face will relax, they will laugh together a little about what a crazy time this weekend is. And he will say well, you know he's at Justin's, and she will nod like she knew that, like it makes sense.

Her hands will sweat and her heart will pound as she makes her way across town in the early morning light to the gated community where Justin's house sits on the edge of one of Orlando's hundreds of golf courses. The guard will stop her but she will have her WEG pass, wouldn't be caught without it this week. She will charm the elderly man a little, talking about the fans in the rental car parked at the end of the cul-de-sac, expressing sympathy over the fact that he'd had to call the police six times during the night to have similar carloads ejected from the neighborhood. She will yawn a little, relaxed, casual, unconcerned while he calls Justin's house and makes sure that he's expecting a delivery from WEG before waving her through the big gates with a smile.

She will be grateful that she has a good memory for numbers, that she remembers the address of Justin's house, but it won't be necessary when she rounds the corner and sees JC's black Jeep parked crookedly in the driveway. It's even less necessary when she sees Justin come out of the front door, his face still blurry with sleep, barefoot and shirtless, his jeans partially unbuttoned. He will approach her car before she even comes to a complete stop, reaching his hand through the window for the envelope. She will want to deliver it to JC herself, will hold on to the envelope as Justin tries to tug it out of her hand, will stammer something about Melinda wanting her to get this to JC right away, and Justin's eyebrows will rise.

"Do not worry," he will tell her, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a small child. His eyes will widen, he'll be mocking her and she won't understand why he always seems to be mocking her. "I will make sure he gets it." His smile will be brilliant, but it will be cold and humorless, cutting her with its sharp edges, making it easy for him to pluck the envelope out of her hands. He will turn his back on her in absolute dismissal, start to walk away before turning suddenly back and this time there will be no smile on his face.

"You know," he will say, his head cocked arrogantly, his voice chilled. "I get the feeling you're forgetting whose boyfriend he is."

He will walk away from her without another word, tossing the envelope between his hands. She will stare for a moment at the fresh looking love bite on his left shoulder blade. When she drives away her heart will be pounding and her palms will be slick with sweat. She will wave cheerfully to the guard at the gate, and smile at the rental car full of young women at the end of the cul-de-sac. The way they crane their necks to look at her makes her a little calmer.

She will be very busy in the hours before the basketball game. Melinda will be crazed with work and sleep deprivation, be even more short-tempered then usual, and will run her ragged with assignments around the venue, checking details. Her errands will take her all over the arena, in and out of the locker room, to the back offices and around the arena floor itself, and she will feel a careful exultation when she hears murmurs from the crowd as she is recognized, or speculated about. She will have no opportunity to see JC until the game is well under way and her own duties ease up somewhat. She will take a few minutes to ease herself gratefully into an empty chair right behind where JC is seated with the players on his team. She will remember the previous night, the VIP party after the skills challenge, when he leaned close in the crowded bar to offer her a sip of his drink and gave her a perfect smile meant just for her. She will sit forward on impulse and lean over his shoulder, tap him lightly, say hello.

And for a moment it will be everything she ever dreamed. His hand will come up and curve around her cheek, cradling her face and pulling her closer to his ear as she speaks, his head will tilt attentively as she speaks into his ear, his eyes will stay on the game but she'll be able to see a smile curve his lips. She will feel a fierce, secret glee at the feel of his warm palm, will dare to put her hands on his shoulders and rub a little. But it will disappear a moment later as the game thunders its way down to their side of the court, as Justin and Joey fly by, elbowing each other playfully as Justin scrambles for a three-point shot, and JC abruptly pulls away from her hands, sits forward in his seat, his attention completely on the game. On Justin. The sentence she'd been in the middle of speaking dies away and her face will flush with humiliation as she sits back in her chair. JC, sitting two feet in front of her, will seem a million miles away.

Melinda will snap her name a moment later, and the rest of the game will pass in a blur of messages to deliver and arrangements to be checked on, and it will be over before she knows it. She will not see JC, and he won't call her until the night before he leaves for Los Angeles. He will be gone for quite awhile, he will tell her, he doesn't know when he'll be back in Orlando, but he hopes she has a good summer.

There will be a large bonus on her next, and final, paycheck from WEG. She will not be surprised.

~ End

**Author's Note:**

> Story originally posted on Kaelie's Ghetto Page on February 4, 2003.
> 
> Thanks to Jess for beta and support, and Shana for encouragement.


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